


Chance Encounters

by Owl_by_Night



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chance Meetings, Domestic, Espionage, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 05:40:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8132470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owl_by_Night/pseuds/Owl_by_Night
Summary: A chance meeting on an overcrowded train leads to an exchange of phone numbers, but Grant has secrets to keep and it's not always easy to begin a relationship when the other person doesn't know who you really are.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fengirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fengirl88/gifts).



> This initially grew out of a kinkmeme prompt asking for Grant overheating in his uniform, but changed into modern Grant overheating in a different uniform and then grew a plot without my noticing. Also partially inspired by an episode of Spooks/MI5 where Tom goes undercover as an army officer. 
> 
> Huge thanks to fengirl88 for all her help and encouragement with this :)

"We apologise for the delay to this service.  This is due to an earlier train fault.  We should be departing shortly."

The announcer doesn't sound any more convincing than the last three times he mentioned their apparently imminent departure, which has gone from fifteen minutes late to simply 'delayed'. Grant shifts his weight from one foot to the other and mops his face on his sleeve. He'd like to be anywhere but here. On fucking exercise for four weeks and now stuck on this packed train on the hottest day of the year. He wouldn't have got on the train at all if it hadn't been for the contents of the memory stick, tucked in the inner pocket of his uniform trousers that has to get back to Wellesley tonight so the analysts can start looking at it.

It takes another fifteen minutes for the train to start moving. At least then there's the hint of a breeze through the tiny windows, but it's not enough to make a difference against the heat generated by the closely packed people in the carriage. Standing room only, and no space for his bag except leaning against his feet, making them even hotter. He grips the back of the seat next to him more tightly with his sweaty palm.  He should have brought more water but he drained the bottle half an hour ago.

The heat rises as they get past the buildings and the sun shines full through the windows. Grant tries to breathe slowly. Just like being on parade.  Wriggle your toes in your army boots, think of something else. He watches the other people in the carriage, fanning themselves with newspapers and fidgeting.  Sweat trickles down his back. He isn't really dressed for this and he's starting to feel queasy in the heat. 

"Hey, are you alright?"

The voice makes him move his head sharply and the roaring noise in his ears goes up a notch. The man speaking to him is about his age, dark hair and a good smile, dressed in t-shirt and shorts the lucky bastard.

"Do you want my seat? Sit down for a bit?"

"No, no I'm fine, thank you." 

Why the fuck did you say that, Grant asks himself. There are little sparks of light at the edges of his vision now, and a feeling of panic. He knows it's just the weather but there's still that residual fear: drugs or poison, someone waiting until he's incapacitated and taking the data from him. He clutches at the seat back again. Surely it can't be that long until the next station now.

"I really don't mind. You don't look great." 

"I'm... I..." 

He isn't sure what he was going to say. I'm fine or I'm not feeling great actually. The roaring sound in his ears drowns out everything else and he reels. Hands grab him, catching him. The backs of his knees hit the seat and he folds. A hand on the back of his neck forces his head roughly down between his knees. For a moment, he tilts on the edge of unconsciousness: vision grey, blind and deaf to what's happening, skin prickling all over.

God no, don't faint now, he thinks.

The floor of the carriage is sticky with someone's spilt drink. He tries to focus on the pattern of it and wills his vision to clear. He feels sick to his stomach.  At least he can still feel the hard edge of the memory stick safe in his pocket. Time goes a bit wobbly for a moment. It could be a minute, could be five.

Over the ringing in his ears he can hear the ripple of interest through the crowd. Someone asking about the emergency alarm.

"No, leave it, better we get to the next station than pull that and get stuck here in full sun."  The man who offered him the seat is kneeling on the floor in front of him, one hand still on his shoulder to keep his head down.

"I'm ok," Grant says, forcing the words out his dry mouth, "just want to get home."

"Ok," the man says, "Ok, we'll get you home." His hand is rubbing gently over Grant's shoulder. "How are you feeling now?"

"Alright."  Grant doesn't try to sit up. He's still lightheaded, the woozy feeling threatening to come back if he moves even though his hearing is coming back to normal.

"You'll be alright in a minute. It's just too hot, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Sorry about this." Grant manages a weak grin for his rescuer. 

"Don't worry about it."  The man smiles back, almost ridiculously attractive.

It's still too hot, but better now Grant's sitting down. He ventures to sit up a little bit. His t-shirt is drenched and he winces at it. Hardly pleasant for the man who's been stroking his back. 

"Steady," the guy says, "have a bit of water if you can."  He hands over a bottle, still sealed. Grant's hands are shaky so the man opens it for him.  The water is lukewarm, but Grant takes a cautious sip and it helps. 

"I'm Jon," the man says, "Jonathan." 

"Grant." He says it without thinking and then kicks himself.  It must be the heat that made him say it, when Grant is not the name on his ID or the cards in his wallet.  

"Hi," Jon says, and smiles again. "Next station should be in about ten minutes. I think maybe we should get you off the train, find somewhere cooler for a bit and make sure you’re alright. When's your stop?" 

"Next station after this one.  But I think I should get out of here. You don’t have to come with me though.  I’ll be fine." 

"It's my stop," Jon says as though that settles the matter.

In not much time at all, the train slows to approach the station and people start fussing again, getting Grant up and checking he has everything. He thinks his face must be scarlet with embarrassment.

"Half an hour for the next train," Jon tells him when they get onto the platform. "I'll wait with you for a bit."  He shepherds Grant to a bench in the shade and leaves him there to buy more water. Grant just sits, enjoying the relative cool of the station. There's a bit of a breeze, drying the sweat on his forehead and his damp clothes. The thought of getting back on a train is torture. He fumbles in his pocket for his phone. If Will's at home Grant can go to his place. 

Jon comes back just as he finishes the call. 

"Yeah, I'll see you in a bit. No I'm fine, really. Yeah. Bye." 

Jonathan looks at him, and holds out the water.

"Sorry, that was Will.  He’s uh… a friend.  I think I’ll go to his instead of catching the next train." 

"Boyfriend?" Jon asks in rather bland tones. 

"God no!" Grant looks up and realises Jon has misjudged the response. He smiles. "His husband would kill me." 

"I see."  Jon smiles again, more relaxed this time.  "Is he going to come and get you?" 

"No, I said I'd get a taxi."

"We can share one then."  And despite his best efforts, Grant finds himself the object of the full force of Jonathan's solicitous help: finding a taxi and giving the address, getting his bag in the boot. He has no way to dissuade him without causing suspicion. 

It's not a long ride from the station, but it's quiet. For sudden acquaintances they suddenly have nothing to say. The taxi stops. Will appears on the steps and then stops there, hovering, when he sees that Grant is not alone. 

"I should go," Grant says.

"Yeah."

"Thanks, for helping. It was… kind."  The word feels inadequate. 

"Any time."  They look at one another.

Jon makes an impatient noise. "Look,” he says taking a scrap of paper from his pocket and scribbling on it. “This is my number. Text me and let he know if you're feeling better later. Take care, yeah?”

Thrusting the paper in Grant’s direction he gets back into the taxi and is gone in a moment, leaving Grant standing on the pavement, waiting for William’s inevitable questions. 

  

"You sure you're alright?" William tries to tug Grant's bag away from him while herding him down the hallway towards the blissfully cool kitchen.

"I'm fine, just stupid. Not enough water and the train was hot. And it's been a long day."

"Long few weeks you mean. You look tired." William puts the kettle on as Grant drops onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table. The mug of tea and the shortbread help when William drops them down onto the table in front of him.  While he drinks, William phones Arthur. He can hear William telling him that no, Grant isn't going in to work this afternoon, and he’s glad that someone else is willing to have that fight for him.

"Look," William says when he puts the phone down, "I've got to get the boys and Arthur's in a meeting. You stay here, have a shower, get some sleep. You can talk to Arthur about whatever it is this evening."

"Thanks."

"Thank me by staying tonight. I've worried about you." William frowns at him, then looks at the kitchen clock. "Shit, I have to go; you know where everything is. I'll try and keep the noise down when we get home."

Grant breathes in the silence when he's left alone. It's a good space to be alone in, unlike his own place, which gets abandoned for weeks at a time and feels like it. William and Arthur's house is one that gets lived in, from the detritus overflowing from William's office to the kids’ drawings stuck on the fridge. If you ignore the extra shutters on the windows and the cameras in the garden you could think any ordinary family lived here.

Grant finishes his tea and heads for the guest bedroom to dump his bag and shower. There's still a pair of his pyjamas on the drawer from when he last stayed so he puts them on and lies down. He only means to close his eyes for a moment but then he's asleep before he even knows it.

 

He wakes up late, sometime in the evening. He can hear voices from below. Not bothering to change he pads downstairs to the kitchen. William is cooking, with the radio burbling away to itself, mostly ignored.

"Feeling better?" William asks him when he walks in.

"Yeah, I needed the sleep." Grant scrubs a hand through his hair. It's probably sticking up at strange angles but it's good to be out of uniform at last. 

"So what happened on the train?" William scrapes chopped peppers onto the pan and stirs them.

"You know what happened."

"I know that bit. What happened after? The man, in the taxi."

Grant buries his head in his arms on the kitchen table.

"He gave you his number, didn't he? Not bad looking either."

"William!"

"What? I'm married not blind." He grins.

Grant's about to say something rude when Charlie appears, toddling into the kitchen, clutching his ratty security blanked and whining. Grant shuts up abruptly.

"What is it sweetheart?" William turns from the stove and bends down to Charlie. The tearful mumbles apparently make sense to him. "Oof, up we come." He lifts Charlie up and balances him on his hip. 

"Someone had a bad day a nursery," he says by way of an explanation and stirs the sauce one handed. It still seems odd to Grant at times, watching William with the kids. He's good at it, but still Grant looks at him some days with paint on his jeans and mashed banana in his hair, wiping snotty noses and kissing bruises better, and wonders if he'd have made the same choice in William’s shoes, or if he ever will.

"You should call him," William says. "What have you got to lose?"

"No, Will. I'm happy on my own." He's had this conversation before. He'd like not to have it again.

"Really?"  William frowns at him over Charlie’s blond head, with all the well-intentioned concern of the happily domestic. 

"Yes really, and besides, he thinks I'm a soldier."

"You were a soldier… when you met him."

"A good soldier too, by all accounts." Arthur appears in the doorway. "You got it then?"

"Yes, it's in your safe."

"We'll talk in the morning," he says, catching William's eye, "I'm done with work for the day."

Arthur’s presence effectively ends the conversation, and then Grant is caught up in family dinnertime and then the chaos of bedtime, with Charlie demanding that Grant read him his bedtime story, and another and another until William comes to rescue him.  They watch TV for a bit afterwards but William doesn’t return to the subject of Jonathan.  Grant thinks about him though, as the politicians argue on screen. 

William is sitting with his feet resting on Arthur’s thigh, frowning at his laptop and muttering about one of his students and their appalling translation work.  Arthur has his hand resting on William’s ankle, stroking his thumb absently over the top of his foot.  It’s not that Grant envies them exactly, but they have something that works and there’s an appeal in that. 

It’s what he blames when he finds himself lying awake that night, staring at the paper with Jonathan’s phone number on it.  He should be asleep but after the nap earlier in the day, he can’t switch off. 

Hi

Hi, it’s Grant…

Hello

He puts the phone down again in disgust.  It’s too late to text now anyway.  Jon will probably be asleep.  He’d wonder why Grant was texting him in the middle of the night. 

Grant rolls the scrap of paper between his fingers again.  There’s a howl from one of the boys’ rooms and footsteps on the landing. 

Annoyed with himself, Grant picks up his phone and texts the first thing that comes to mind.  He hits send before he has time to regret it and switches the phone to silent.  It’s done.  He flicks off the light and tries not to think about it. 

 

In his sweltering hot flat, Jonathan is lying naked on his bed, hoping that the inadequate breeze from the fan will eventually allow him to sleep.  He keeps thinking about the train, and the man in army uniform.  Stupid to give him his phone number really.  Stupid to keep checking his phone all evening to see if he had any messages. 

As if on cue, his phone beeps at him from the bedside cabinet and he lunges for it. 

“Hi, it’s Grant, we met on the train.  Just wanted to say thank you again for this afternoon.  Feeling better now.  Hope I didn’t make you late for wherever you were going.”

Jonathan stares at the phone for a moment, grinning foolishly at the bright screen.  Maybe not so stupid after all. 

 

 

 


End file.
